A Tale of Romance, Action, Magic, and Adventure
by saramon
Summary: In which England the Wizard and Alfred Something have romantic, magical, action-filled adventures, sometimes together, sometimes apart. Fairytale!AU, y/y? USxUK
1. In Which a Story Begins

Once upon a time, because this is that sort of story. Once upon a time in a faraway land, in the deep depths of the darkest forest, there lived a mighty and powerful wizard.

(He preferred to be referred to as a _sorcerer, thank you very much. _For the sake of simplicity, we'll just call him Arthur.)

Now, Arthur the Wizard didn't live all by himself in the deep depths of the darkest forest. He lived with a little boy who he called his little brother but wasn't really. It was just easier, or so his reasoning went, to tell people that the boy was his little brother rather than tell them…what he really was. Not that he had to explain it to many people. That was point of living in the deep depths of the darkest forest. You didn't get a lot of visitors.

Arthur the Wizard and the little boy (whose name was Alfred Something, but we'll get to that later) lived happily, or as happily as you would expect. They loved each other just as much as if they were real brothers. More, probably, since real brothers sometimes don't love each other at all. Arthur wasn't the best parent, or even the best big brother all the time, but Alfred wasn't the best little brother either, so they worked things out between them. Alfred was possibly a little spoiled, but that was fine too. He would grow out of that in time. Alfred only had one complaint, really, and that was this: Arthur would never let him go into town.

They grew most of their own vegetables, and Arthur made a lot of their clothes by magic (sometimes with interesting results) and they got much of what they needed otherwise in payment for spells and charms. But occasionally there was a long dry spell between customers, and even Arthur the Wizard couldn't make something out of absolutely nothing, so then he would have to make the long trek out of the forest and into town.

And he never let Alfred come with him.

Alfred would beg and plead and cry and usually Arthur let him do anything he wanted as soon as his eyes started glistening, but this always got a no. No, it was too dangerous. No, Alfred would run around and get lost. No, town was only for grownups.

So one day Alfred decided to go into town. That's where this story really starts.

He hadn't planned to do it or anything. It was just that when Arthur told him that morning, "I'm going to town today. No, you can't go. Make sure to weed the carrots and don't let the fire go out," and Alfred replied, "Okay! Bye," what he thought was, _I'm going to follow him._ The idea just sprang into his mind like someone put it there, as bad ideas often do. Never trust an idea that appears without your asking.

But young Alfred didn't know that yet (indeed, he won't learn it for a while), and so when Arthur set off through the deep depths of the darkest forest, Alfred crept along behind him. He wasn't particularly good at creeping, but Arthur wasn't particularly observant.

It took years to reach the town, or at least it felt like that, but trips always feel farther when you don't know where you're going. Alfred certainly had no idea where he was going. He'd never been past the river where they got water before, and they'd passed that ages ago.

Finally, though, the trees started to thin out and the forest started to look like a woods and then the woods started to look like a park. Arthur stopped abruptly. Alfred almost tripped head over heels jumping behind a tree. He was caught!

No, he wasn't. Arthur wasn't looking at but frowning in concentration and muttering to himself. Alfred knew that look! It was his I'm-doing-a-difficult-spell-so-keep-quiet-and-don't-bother-me look. What could he be doing?

Something strange. Before Alfred's eyes, Arthur changed from blonde haired and bushy browed to a short, fat, balding old man! Now why would he do that?

Before Alfred had much time to think of an explanation (and given a minute he could have thought of several very creative ones) Arthur was striding off again. Alfred jumped out from behind his tree and hurried after. They _must_ be almost at the town by now!

They were. Almost up against the edge of the forest were clusters of houses, more buildings than Alfred could remember seeing in his life. It was quite a small town by most standards, and Alfred would soon see much larger cities, but at that moment he was extremely impressed. So impressed, in fact, that he stopped following Arthur and drifted off among the houses.

It was amazing! There were houses made out of rocks and houses with bright colors all over them and houses that must've been five times the size of his and Arthur's house. And all the people! He'd never seen so many people in his life! Tall people, short people, fat people, thin people. People with dark hair and light hair and no hair. A whole group of men wearing the same clothes, although other than that they didn't look alike at all. One of them was dark, one of them had yellow hair like Arthur and Alfred, and the third was so pale he looked like a ghost. (For some reason, they were pointing at Alfred. He remembered Arthur had told him it was rude to stare, and stopped doing so.)

Everybody seemed to be going the same way, so Alfred followed them. They were heading for a big open area with lots of people selling things. What was that, and that – oops! There was old-man Arthur, better go the other way –

Somebody grabbed his arm and spun him around. It was one of them who were all wearing the same thing, the one with long yellow hair.

"Little boy!" said the man. Alfred, who was nine, was far too old to be called little boy. He decided right away that he didn't like the man.

"What?" Alfred said petulantly, trying to get his arm free.

"What is your name?" the man demanded.

"Alfred Something," Alfred said angrily, finally jerking his arm away.

"Alfred _Something?"_ The man grabbed his shoulder now. "Something is not a name."

"That's what Arthur said!" Alfred insisted.

(This was true. When Alfred had asked several years ago "If I'm not your real brother, what's my name?" Arthur had replied, "Alfred, er, something.")

"Anyway, Arthur told me not to talk to strangers," Alfred said, rather guiltily, because he suddenly remembered that Arthur had also told him not to come to town.

"Who is Arthur?" the man said, rudely sticking his face into Alfred's. For some reason, he was staring at Alfred's eyes. Was he trying to hypnotize him or something? Arthur always threatened he could do that to Alfred if he wanted, but he never actually did it.

"My big brother," Alfred said automatically, as Arthur had told him.

"Your blood brother?" The man looked excited. "Your family?!"

"Um," said Alfred. Well, he'd never specifically been told to lie about this. "No."

The more he said, the more thrilled the man looked. He was waving the rest of the men over. _Soldiers, _that was what they were called. The word occurred to Alfred suddenly, though he was sure Arthur had never said it.

"And where is Arthur exactly, my lad?" The blonde soldier was grinning now as if his dreams had just come true. And _my lad._ Alfred wasn't sure about that. "Is he here? He does not let you wander off by yourself, does he?"

"No…" Alfred started looking around for Arthur. He was beginning to think it would be okay to get in trouble as long as he got away from the soldier and his friends.

"Good." The soldier stood up again, though he didn't let go of Alfred. In fact, his grip on Alfred's shoulder tightened. "You will be coming with us, I think. You are someone very important, and you cannot stay with Arthur anymore."

What? "No!" Alfred shouted, as the blonde soldier's pale friend, who he liked even less, grabbed his other shoulder and pushed him forward. "No! You can't!"

Why wasn't anyone helping?! But the townspeople all backed away from the soldiers, who were steering Alfred toward a big black carriage, and no matter how much he struggled they wouldn't let go and _nobody was helping him._

"Arthur!" he screamed, and there Arthur was, looking like himself again, but too far away, too far away to do anything and they were shoving him into the carriage. The black door slammed shut and the town was gone.

Did we say the story had started already? Sorry. The real story starts now.

* * *

HECK YES FOR TOO SHORT EXPOSITIONS. Fairytale!AU, y/y?


	2. In Which There's Birthdays and Bad Luck

It was Alfred F. Jones' 18th birthday, and he was spending it in a tactics meeting in a damp tent in the middle of a battlefield. Well, if you wanted to get technical, it wasn't in the middle of a _battlefield,_ but in the middle of an encampment. The encampment was right by the battlefield though, so Alfred figured he had the right to complain about that aspect of things. Not that he _would_ complain, of course. Complaining wasn't a kingly thing to do.

That was the problem with being the king. You couldn't just _be_ king – you had to act like a king. Kings didn't get to grumble about how the encampment smelled like death because someone had pitched it right next to the battlefield. They didn't even get to whine about how it had been raining for the whole entire campaign. They had to act _kingly._ Which Alfred was good at, most of the time. Sometimes it was harder than others.

Now was one of those times. He'd sort of been hoping someone would remember it was his birthday, but so far no one had. The possibility of cake was looking distant. The idea that someone would even congratulate him for being alive eighteen years in a row seemed less and less likely.

He couldn't let that get him down! Being sad because nobody wished you a happy birthday…well, that just wasn't kingly. He should be thinking about what they were going to do in the next battle, not about the stupid rain and his stupid birthday.

"What do you say, Your Majesty?" asked General Francis.

"Um…" said Alfred. He would've expected blonde haired, elegant-even-in-the-rain Francis to remember his birthday over anyone. After all, he'd known Francis for almost nine years. Right now though, he had no idea what they'd been talking about. "Go for it! Sounds great!"

"You think it sounds great to put all the soldiers on half rations?" Colonol Gilbert, Francis' oddly colored friend, scowled. "I won't be hanging around this army much longer if that happens."

Alfred desperately tried to backtrack until Gilbert grinned. "Just joking, Your Majesty. We were discussing our next move against Vash."

Vash Zwingli, the most terrifying man Alfred had ever seen, for all that he looked like a girl. Not that Alfred _was_ scared of him. A king couldn't be seen to be scared of the other side. No matter how many weapons the other side had.

"Are you overtired, sir?" Major Antonio, the third member of the trio of friends, said kindly. "You've been so involved in everything and this being your first campaign…"

Alfred grinned. "Ah, don't worry. I'm alright. Not a scratch on me yet!"

"You must be careful to keep it that way, Your Majesty." Alfred's grin dropped as he heard the new voice.

"Any reason you're worried about my health today, Ivan?" he said, without turning to face the newcomer. A meaty hand fell on his shoulder and he sensed the Chief Advisor's bulk behind him.

"I am _always _worried about your health." Ivan leaned around him, smiling. "We can't afford to lose you again, can we? Whatever would we do?"

Alfred wasn't sure what it was about the Chief Advisor that unsettled him. Probably the voice. It was just too high pitched for someone that…big. Then again, maybe it was the eyes. Ivan's eyes practically glowed violet, eyes that marked him as Chief Advisor the way Alfred's bright blue ones marked him as royal. Which was why, no matter how much Ivan creeped him out, Alfred couldn't get rid of him. Stupid rules. Stupid history.

"Yeah, whatever would you do," Alfred muttered. He stepped out from under Ivan's hand. "I'm gonna go walk around for a while. Clear my head. Maybe I am too tired."

"That is a good idea," Ivan agreed as Alfred left the tent. "Oh, and Your Majesty – " Alfred stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Happy birthday."

Well, at least _somebody _ remembered, Alfred thought just a little bit bitterly, even though he wasn't at all bitter normally. That just goes to show about rainy days and the important of happy birthdays.

Especially the importance of happy birthdays. Alfred was eighteen now, which honestly didn't mean much except that he was officially king. That didn't mean much because he'd been crowned at age ten and had been acting as as-might-as-well-be king for the past couple years. It was all pretty easy, honestly. You just gave peasants some grain to plant and didn't tax them too hard and everybody loved you. Alfred wasn't a fan of the crown (it was heavy) or the fancy clothes (you couldn't _move_ in them – although the cape was alright), but overall it ranked as a good job.

It ranked as a good job, anyway, until the war.

Alfred couldn't really figure out why they were fighting so hard for this little strip of marsh, but Ivan had _insisted_ that the land rightfully belonged to Alfred and not Vash, who was currently occupying it. Historically and whatnot. And give him an inch and he'll take a mile and all that, so now their armies were stuck in a swamp for weeks of rain. Was it just _always _raining here or – what was that?! That sounded like –

"Your Majesty!" Francis was running toward him, sword out. "Vash's army is here again – you must arm yourself!"

It _was_ the sound of a battle, and too close for comfort when Alfred was away from his tent without even a dagger. He should've brought –

He spun and ran back toward the encampment, but Vash must've come in on both sides because there were soldiers in the way. Not through there – he'd have to double around back, through the woods where Vash _couldn't've_ reached yet. He backtracked and raced off.

No fighting in the forest yet. And he could almost see his tent, where his sword was –

He barely heard the _snick,_ but he felt the _thump. _Suddenly there was an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. He looked down at it, rather confused, then up, where a bowman was standing, also looking confused. Probably couldn't decide if he'd just shot the king or some farmer's boy who _resembled _the king.

Either way, he was apparently going to finish the job, since he was raising his bow again. Alfred turned and stumbled off in to the woods. The arrow in him (a surprising amount of blood was coming out even though it was still in) was making it hard to think – maybe if he just got away quickly enough –

Another _snick_, and pain blossomed all over the back of his leg. Ow. He fell to his knees, couldn't run like that. It was all over now. Whatever would Ivan do…

Dimly, he heard shouting behind him. It stopped quickly though, and so did that arrows, so that was probably good. Not so good was he'd slipped all the way to the ground without realizing it. Now there was a small pool of blood around him, and since the shouting _had_ stopped, that meant nobody was coming his way. Had Francis seen him come into the forest? Maybe – he couldn't remember.

As the puddle of blood got bigger, the bright, throbbing pain started to go away. That was nice, at least…

(Don't you worry, of course. Alfred can't die here. He still has a part to play in this story.)

His last thought as he slipped into painless darkness was, _What a rotten birthday…_

____________________

HEY YOU KNOW. I really like reviews. :) They kind of make me want to write more chapters. In case anybody wants to read more chapters. Just sayin'._  
_


	3. In Which Old Friends Meet Again

When Arthur Kirkland the mighty and powerful sorcerer went out to gather herbs (which unfortunately were the sort of herbs that to work properly can only be gathered after ten straight days of rain), he did not expect to find a dead man sprawled all over the herbs he had gone to such trouble to get.

His first thought was, _Urgh._

His second thought was, _I should have known this would happen, because things like this always happen to me, don't they?_

His third though (and the third thoughts are the ones you should really trust) was, _He's not dead!_

Indeed he was not. The not-so-dead man's breaths were shallow, but Arthur could distinctly see his chest moving. He dropped to his knees in the mud, forgetting about the herbs, and rolled the man all the way face-up (carefully, because he had an arrow sticking out the back of his thigh and another one broken off in his shoulder. Which was probably why he was not-quite-dead.)

Once again, Arthur had three thoughts.

The first – _He looks familiar…_

The second – _Of course he looks bloody familiar! It's Alfred!_

And the third, slightly quieter but no less important – _Oh bollocks, what day is it?_

He was distracted from trying to calculate the date (things like that slipped away from you when you lived alone in the deepest depths of the darkest forest) when Alfred's eyelids briefly fluttered open, then closed again. Dammit! What was he supposed to do now?

It was wonderful that he had a chance with Alfred again, but it was not so wonderful that Alfred was half dead and getting more so all the time. This would all work out fine if he'd discovered Alfred next to a hospital or something, but they were in the middle of the woods, in the rain, and it was getting dark. He had to get Alfred back to his house at least, where it was warm and dry, and that meant doing a spell to get them there. He'd never been particularly good at transportation spells, and these certainly weren't ideal conditions, but magic was mostly determination, wasn't it?

(This was slightly incorrect on Arthur's part. Magic was mostly _faith,_ but Arthur had always been suspicious, so determination was the next best thing.)

With his finger in the mud, he sketched out the proper pentagram. It was wobbly and running together, but looked…basically right. Bowing his head, he spoke the magic words in the ancient language of magic. The ancient and revered transportation spell roughly translated to this: "Please let [name of object to be transported] go to [place to be transported to] in one piece. Thank you very much."

Obviously, in this case Arthur substituted [name of object] with _Alfred_ and [place to go] with _my house._ He also put special emphasis on the thank you.

(The please and thank you bits were his own idea, and he tacked them onto all his spells. He figured it couldn't hurt.)

With relief, he felt the familiar tugging sensation that meant the spell was working. The rain soaked woods dissolved around them. Transportation was always disconcerting to Arthur. The only solid thing he could feel was Alfred, and he held tightly to him until his house resolved itself around them. That went as well as could be expected –

The blood suddenly soaking everything told otherwise. Oh_ damn._ He hadn't been careful enough with his spell. He forgot to ask that the arrows come along too. Now Alfred was bleeding all over the place even more than before. Arthur wasn't a doctor by any means, but from all the blood coming out of Alfred, that arrow in his leg must have hit an artery. Dammit, dammit, dammit! He wasn't a medical sorcerer – the best he could do was close up skin, and what if the wound in Alfred's shoulder had damaged something inside, some muscle or organ – well, come on, anything is better than him spurting blood all over the place!

Arthur took a deep breath, and then covered up the hole in Alfred's leg with both hands. He'd have to do without a pentacle, but magic is mostly determination, right?

He intoned the spell, which was actually quite complicated (the reason he'd never gotten into medical magic – you had to be so specific with every spell. Misplace one word and you remove the wrong organ entirely.)

Miraculously, he felt the skin knit together under his fingers. Cautiously, he removed his hands. The wound was still red and sore looking, but at least it wasn't gushing blood. He moved up to Alfred's shoulder, being a bit more careful this time to pull his shirt out of the way and whatnot.

As Arthur started the spell, Alfred's eyes cracked open briefly. He smiled and murmured, "Arthur…" and then, "It's warm," before closing his eyes again. Arthur almost stumbled over his words, but got it out. He felt the wound close again. This one looked a bit better.

Well. He sat back on his haunches and looked around. Everything seemed to be covered in blood. How much blood could one man lose? At least Alfred was still breathing. That was the important thing, wasn't it? Keep Alfred breathing.

On the other hand, he was awfully pale, and his breathing seemed too shallow. Better get him off the floor. And out of those blood-soaked clothes (Arthur could stand to do the same).

Enough spelling – it had worn him out. He wrestled Alfred onto the bed instead. Good lord, when had he gotten so…big? He must be taller than Arthur even. Arthur started to strip Alfred of his clothes, ignoring the vaguely awkward feeling that creeping up on him. This was Alfred, he'd seen him naked a thousand times. Even if he was all grown up and a king now. Anyway, he was a patient of sorts.

Arthur got Alfred down to…well, his underthings, then decided that was good enough and went to go change clothes himself. He returned clean from the stream with a bucket of water, and set about washing the blood away from Alfred's now closed wounds. He should really get a doctor, just to check.

When the cold was splashed over his shoulder, Alfred's eyelids fluttered again. He focused on Arthur and smiled sweetly. "You?"

Arthur suddenly couldn't speak. He'd never expected to see Alfred again, and here he was, and smiling at him – he managed to stammer, "Yes, it is me. Don't worry," and Alfred closed his eyes.

It was odd, but just then it seemed as though Alfred had never been taken away, like he was still a little boy. But no, he couldn't have stayed so innocent, could he? He had the cares and responsibilities of a king, and Gods' sakes, Arthur had pulled him out of a way. But just then, lying on Arthur's bed, Alfred looked so very peaceful and childlike –

Alfred's eyes flew open and he vaulted upright. "Hey! You! You bastard, what did you do to me?"

So much for that.


End file.
